Du Shur'tugal Nángoröth
by kim-onka
Summary: Murtagh, the cursed Dragon Rider, son of Morzan and Selena, Eragon's brother and friend-turned-enemy. Thorn, the young red dragon bond to him. The hardships they have encountered ever since they hatched and the life they strive through.


**Du Shur'tugal Nángoröth – The Cursed Dragon Rider**

I hereby disclaim.

Spoiler alert! Make sure you a. have read all the books or b. really don't mind spoilers before reading.

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Under the Name of Father

Son of Morzan, the first and the last of the Forsworn. The heir of the most feared and most loyal companion of the king, together with whom he betrayed the Riders and gradually led to their fall. The brood of the brute whose bestiality was nearly legendary. Who would want to bear the name of such a father?

What burden had that been for a slim, dark-haired boy growing up at the court of the powerful king, amongst frightened courtiers, remembering the vile character of the first wielder of Zar'roc, and guileful nobles, who in hope of winning the ruler's favour had kept offering him their protection, but at heart had envied him his position of the only inheritor of the Thirteen Forsworn.

Soon had he learnt to loathe that name, just like he loathed the memories of coldly shining blood-coloured blade, the echo of rough laughter, the derisive face of his father, the flame of pain slicing through his back. He learnt to loathe this all with his first, inexorable loathing which laid a shadow across his face and marked his dark eyes with a look of grim pride.

(And only one of the custodians took the effort of breaking the persistent, seething muteness of the lonely child. And only he reached the detached, reserved youth with teachings exceeding far beyond the mastery of sword, offering him friendship and genuine care. And only he stayed at his ward's side, protecting his right to freedom with his very life.)

And together with this loathing, the burden of pain and foreign shame, there appeared in his heart silent determination to escape the inheritance of deadly infamy and achieve something that would forever separate his name form the name of Morzan.

(Later, whenever he wistfully remembered those longings, with a bitter smile of slightly insane irony he would lay his hand on Thorn's snout and say nothing, in the heavy silence of their joined minds reflecting upon the cruel sense of humour typical of fate.)

(Whenever he was lead to the dragon eggs, he always touched the green one first. It was in vain, of course; eventually even Zar'roc found its way to the hands of its heir.)

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The Red Rider

The fine network of cracks spread quickly on the surface of the egg, which now wobbled more and more vigorously. There was no mistaking the evident signs of a life breaking free out of the shell where it had spent long years awaiting a partner to share heart and soul with.

That was going to be Murtagh.

Heart pounding, he watched the tiny dragon shake off the last remains of the egg and look around, blinking its little ruby eyes. Red scales glistened in firelight, and if the creature kept still for a second, one might take it for a figurine of superb making, a true work of jewellery art brought out of the treasury.

Yet in truth it was so much more.

The creature seemed to notice Murtagh and advanced in his direction, dragging its tiny wings, but the man backed away, still too shocked to accept what he was seeing -

"Touch it."

which was, precisely, a dragon having hatched for him. Unlike Eragon, Murtagh possessed the knowledge sufficient for certain and probable implications of that fact fill his mind, for wary expectation of the unusual bond to form, but as he stood there, barely upright from weariness and constantly bearing the pain of recent tortures, there was one thought above others which fought for his attention –

"I said, _touch it._"

was it possible to _force_ a dragon to hatch for someone..? Was it really the creature's decision, or had it been confused by the king's dark magic?

Murtagh hated that thought. Even when they became partners, it would haunt him to no end despite the dragon's soothing thoughts.

The dragon stopped, looked directly at him and squeaked softly.

Either way, it was too late.

Slowly, he extended his hand, and with all solemnity the red hatchling brushed its little head against his fingers.

He, Murtagh son of Morzan, became a Dragon Rider.

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Brothers

As if it was not enough that among the first enemies of the Empire he ran into was Brom, the killer of Morzan. No, his companion, the Dragon Rider, had to be his, Murtagh's, brother.

_Brother._ In the darkness of Uru'bean he tried to fit the idea into his head, the idea of there being someone just like him, only not…

_Brother. _He repeated that word, over and over again, like an invective, like an insult, like a swearword.

_Brother._ He had thought he was alone, yet there was someone else laden with the same curse, the same inheritance of betrayal and infamy.

_Brother!_ For too long had he carried that burden alone, one against the world; what satisfaction was it to throw that word into the face of that sanctimonious hero of whom he had once thought of as a friend, but who had not contained inimical suspicion when confronted with that one truth.

_Brother, brother of mine, you, who are the same as me. Call me a traitor if you wish, a murdered if you please, but never forget how little there is that differentiates us._ So little… a couple of years, full of pain, loneliness and humiliation, after which Selena had decided to leave her second child with her brother, so that it would not need to withstand what her first-born son had had to. All of Eragon's uniqueness and singularity boiled down to being the younger son of Morzan and Selena. With partiality verging on cruelty Murtagh watched as the truth imprinted its mark on the face of the younger Rider: he, also, was the son of the hated enemy… He, also, deserved the mistrust Murtagh had to cope with wherever he went, even though he naturally would not be faced with it anymore, being the hero of the Varden.

_Brother. When you, too, swear fealty to Galbatorix – you will have no choice, like I had none – then we can really be brothers…_ With Eragon as his brother, he would be alone no more in his fate.

All that would later prove false – Eragon was his half-brother, son of Selena and Brom. Murtagh had to restrain his surprise and focus on the task at hand, yet the irony of the situation, pointed out by Galbatorix as appropriateness, did not evade him. Son of Brom against son of Morzan…

(Who would Brom see if he looked at Murtagh – son of his deadly enemy or orphaned child of his beloved?)

But when everything was over, they were brothers… the two sons of Selena. And they parted as brothers, as their mother would surely have hoped.

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The Memory of Mother

Often did he think of her, of that woman who abandoned her home village to follow the voice of her heart and engaged herself in a fiery romance – as he was told – and gladly joined in the bloody deeds of her beloved – that he was not told, but he had learnt to listen. Everyone had been afraid of her, too, terrified of the inventive cruelty of the infamous Black Hand, Morzan's powerful companion.

He did not tell Eragon that when he first told his tale. Neither did he say how he remembered her.

For him mother was a touch of warm arms shielding him from the world, a palm on his feverish forehead, a soft voice in the dark. A vague memory of black hair falling on his face and a broken whisper, meant to carry words of encouragement.

"Look," she would say quietly, hugging him close, "look at the sky."

And he would look, and on the sky there shone the moon whose name she bore.

"When you are sad, when you are alone, look at the moon," she would tell him, "and always remember that I am thinking of you…"

So he looked and missed her with desperate, childish longing for her and everything she was for him, on the months when she was gone and nursemaids scolded him for asking for his mother. Later he was to discover she had disappeared; yet later that at that time she had borne a second child; and finally that she had betrayed Morzan and it had been Brom's child.

But none of that changed the fact that she returned and firmly demanded to see her little son, and when she was taken to him – Morzan was not there to forbid her – she cuddled him and burst into tears. Despite the years which had gone by he remembered her trembling arms and fitful sobs; it was his last and clearest memory of his mother.

Back then, of course, he had failed to understand her behaviour, but he already had comprehended one thing: she had not left him.

Soon after that she died, and on that night the moon was hidden behind the clouds.

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Thorn

The red dragon rumbled thoughtfully and a word spoken in soft, mellow tones flowed through his Rider's mind.

_Murtagh._

_Yes?_

_You recall our teachers-Rider-masters said a dragon was to decide what he or she was to be known as._

_Yes._ Murtagh had heard of this custom even earlier, and had respectfully waited for his dragon to mature sufficiently to understand the idea of names and subsequently choose a name for himself.

And now he waited to hear what the dragon had to say on the subject.

There was a pause.

_I shall be known as Thorn._

There was a short silence. But Murtagh needed to ask.

_Why?_

_I have thought and this is suitable. I am a thorn in your side, Murtagh. Without me, you could have opposed Galbatorix, you could have fought for your freedom and escaped anew. But you had to take care of a helpless hatchling who had no-one but you in this world, thus binding yourself to the one whom you despise._

The Rider felt his fists curl in useless anger.

_Never say that. I would have been forced into Galbatorix's service either way; it was my curse you took upon yourself when you chose to bind your life to mine. _

_Then let us be cursed, partner-of-my-soul-and-heart, because not once have I regretted my choice. Yet the truth is I have been a thorn to you, and Thorn you shall call me._

_As you wish, then. You have been a thorn to me and I have been a curse to you; it only remains for us to regain Zar'roc and we shall bring misery onto our enemies._

_As you say, partner._

* * *

The Cursed Name

_Be cursed, brother, for tempting us so._

_Be cursed, Rider, for not coming to our aid._

_Be cursed._ So easily did those words appear on his lips.

_Be cursed, you, like I am cursed._ Because whatever else could it be called? Cursed before conception, cursed at birth, by the curse orphaned, once, twice and again, cursed with loneliness and distrust. The curse pursued him whenever he went, denied him peace –

'Who are you?'

These were the first words Eragon directed at Murtagh.

This was important. He felt his grip on the bow tighten.

'I am Murtagh.'

Never, as long as he could help it, did he call he himself Murtagh Morzansson. He had hoped to leave that name behind together with the capital, Galbatorix's palace and everything they entailed.

He had always wanted that, then and later, it was what he dreamt of, running away, with his mother, with Tornac, with Thorn; even when they abnegated this yearning, the vision of freedom haunted their entangled dreams and they flew, flew on scarlet wings, until they reached the painful disappointment of awakening.

For his name had become well-known, but that was not the fame in search of which he had left Uru'baen; the curse had made sure of that.

Murtagh Morzansson, the cursed Dragon Rider.

And there was not a place where their minds could find peace.

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Author's Note

So, how many Murtagh fan(girl)s there are among my readers? ;)

I read in Inheritance Wiki that Paolini said dragons picked their own names when they were old enough to understand the concept, and so did Thorn. I didn't make that one up.

As for Nasuada – I know it's very very important! So I left it for a separate story which I'll be posting very soon. Tomorrow, as a matter of fact, so bear with me, please.

Atra du evarínya ono varda~


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